All The Ships In The Sea
by FluffleNeCharka
Summary: Everyone wants love, wants to be loved and have someone to love. Multiple ships, including het, slash and femslash. Open to suggestions for other pairings. Tony/Whitney, Rhodey/Pepper, Howard/Obadiah, Howard/Gene, Pepper/Girl!Tony and Howard/Tony.
1. WhitneyTony

**Author's Note:** Basically this fanfic is being done because everybody else has already written Pepperony better than I ever could. It's time for variety in pairings. Also it's an excuse to post one shots instead of lengthy fics, because I'm better at one shots than anything else. And I know, I know, everybody hates Whitney and nobody really wants to see Tony/Whitney happen, but I hate ship wars, so suck it, I ship both opposing ships. Everybody deserves love, no exceptions. (Hence the crappy title.)

I'll probably update this on Friday or Saturday. I wish I had more ships to start out with, but, well, I'm running low on time, so make due with this for now.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Iron Man Armored Adventures it would deal with underage drinking and Pepper would have a jetpack. Since I do not, don't sue me. All you'd get is a collection of socks, anyway.

* * *

Whitney Stane never believed in love.

Her mother loved her very much. That's what she'd told her whenever she was clean, however briefly that was. She liked to be smothering and snuggly when she wasn't high. But inevitably she loved the cocaine more. She loved the needle more than she loved her little girl. Whitney remembered the way she'd hit everyone, her husband, her daughter, the wall, throwing things and yelling for them all to get out. She'd be completely different the next day, her smile like sunshine that had been dimmed ever so slightly since the last time she saw them all. Eventually she died as she lived, curled up on the bathroom floor high as a kite. Whitney had been seven years old then. She'd been the one to come home and find the body. It was then that she realized it was possible to hurt so deeply that on the surface she went blank and cold.

Her father loved her. That was why he worked so hard. That was why every single birthday after her eighth was spent alone in an empty kitchen without presents. That was why, when he was reminded or felt guilty, he'd give her nice big checks to buy anything she wanted, to get her out of his face. He was very busy. Work was very important. He didn't have to come right out and say it was more important than her, she'd seen that all her life. She knew very well that he wanted her to have a better life. She didn't understand why a better life meant she was all alone. She just understood that she was an ungrateful brat who should stop whining and be happy to live a life of privilege. She was a whiny attention whore who should be ashamed of how immature she was acting.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" her father had asked her last week, when she'd brought up the idea of having a little time with him for her sweet sixteen. "Leave or I'll call security on you. I should've known you were trying to pull something by coming here. You're just as manipulative as your mother was, you know that? I've got more important things to do than waste time with you. We are _this_ close to a breakthrough on the Iron Man case!"

Iron Man. She'd been so jealous of him. Her father was obsessed with him. And obsession wasn't love, but it was _something_. Her father didn't even hate her. He didn't even seem to really dislike her. She was just a burden to him. Why should he feel one way or another about her? She wasn't important to him or relevant to his life. The only time he even noticed her was when he asked about her spying on Tony. Whitney was a tool to be used, and she was a terrible, broken tool that couldn't accomplish its task. Sometimes, as messed up as it was, she wanted Tony to yell at her for being a blatant spy. Sometimes she wanted her dad to tell her she was a failure as a means of corporate espionage. At least then someone would be talking to her. At least then she'd have a reason to feel bad. Right now she had money, a great school and a big house. What did she have to complain about? Her dad loved her.

Ha! Yeah, right. Love was a one word excuse for every awful action. Any atrocity, any hurt, any pain or crime could be made noble if someone attached love to the preceding or latter sentence. Love was a great theatrical prop, a good legal move, a nice plotline. Love wasn't real, anymore than she was real. She was a fake, smiling girl who was crying rivers inside just love was a front for abuse. Anyone who thought romance was anything other than tricks was a sheltered idiot. Or at least, that was what she told herself every Thanksgiving she spent eating TV dinners in front of the TV and every Christmas her father sent her to France so he could go out drinking with his buddies and then hold over her head what a great father he was. That was love. Love was doing something under the appearance of kindness and really holding the metaphorical knife to someone's throat.

Today was her birthday. Her father wasn't home. She'd nearly died two months ago, had damage done to her memories and brain cells that could never be reversed, had whole months that were blank, and he didn't care enough to call. She'd tried to see him and had been thrown out. The clock was nearing midnight and she was completely alone... So nothing bad had happened, really, it was a very typical day for her. She ate breakfast alone, went to school and got tripped in the hall and called names by other people, escaped the world for lunch, lost herself in a book as much as she could and eventually made it home. Home was barren, empty and cold, true, and yet it was also kind in its loneliness. No one was ever here to bother her, or hurt her. That also meant no one was here to ask her how her day was or surprise her with a dorky birthday party. The same little bit of shelter she had from her life was also suffocating her.

The only person who had remembered what today was, was Tony. In her hands she held his gift, a small arrangement of flowers. It wasn't very big, or expensive, or even pretty - and who cared about all that? It was her only gift. He was the only one who noticed her existence anymore. If lightning struck her the only New Yorker that wouldn't step over her and keep moving was that naive genius. Tony said that her father had worked very hard to make sure she didn't die once he found out about the mask's toxins. She was fairly sure he was just lying to make her feel better. That was okay. Everybody lied to her, either to her face or behind her back, but at least Tony was trying to make her happy with his lies. He was trying to make her life better. He didn't want to hurt her.

That was the closest thing to love, real love, that she'd ever known.


	2. RhodeyPepper

Pepper Potts likes Vanilla Italian sodas, without a ton of ice, and she drinks them in twenty ounce quantities over the course of the school year.

She speaks French with surprising grace and fluidity, having been taught by her mother, who pulled strings to get her daughter into an after school languages program. Pepper likes the idea of knowing people in other countries, likes the idea of there being all kinds of words for the same thing. She babbles on in either language, a neverending sea of talk, and she's not nearly afraid of making mistakes as Rhodey was when he tried a language class.

Her mother died last year under 'mysterious circumstances' that Pepper wants to investigate. She's trying to get into SHIELD just to do that, to follow in her mother's footsteps and solve the murder of twenty three SHIELD agents. Pepper doesn't see them as employees of a company, she sees them as nineteen spouses and forty nine children left to pick up the pieces. She sees evil as something she should combat with all her resources. She gets herself in over her head, and Tony has had to bail her out on occasion, but the altruism is inspiring in its own way.

She likes bands that are strange and off beat, vaguely hippie in nature, and happy hardcore music. That's no surprise – happy hardcore was a genre built for the energetic redheads of the world – but Rhodey is startled by what else is on her shelves. Dark, quiet, moody music, more instrumental than New Age, some Celtic songs, things he'd never pictured her listening to. And mentally he readjusts his view of her with every passing day.

Her favorite color is yellow, not just any yellow but sunflower gold, because it's bright and bold. She likes grays, too, which are muted and dull and the dichotomy doesn't bother her as much as finding things in those colors do. There's a picture from her kindergarten days where she had a sunflower gold streak dyed in by her big sister, who lives out in California now teaching aviation. The older girl has hair that color naturally and was the only child for three generations to have inherited it. Her eyes are that elusive beige-gray hybrid that Pepper's are, but Pepper's have an inner light that gleams through, charming the anger out of him.

Pepper loves sneakers and boots. No other shoes will do. And the heel has to be practical, or she'll leave it. Her shoes are scouted out from every thrift store she knows, from the closets of friends or even the trash of strangers. She sets them up like a rainbow in her closet because the colors are uplifting. Rhodey has learned not to try to get her to explain about that. It's like her obsession with the paranormal, her penpal Dib who she's investigated things with.

She's run off in the night before with her flashlight, a backpack of scant equipment and more courage than he knew she had. She's chased after ghosts, followed the prints of the Jersey Devil were they led, and had a terrifying encounter with Slender Man when she was ten. She explains the urban legend to Rhodey, who was never interested in spooky things, with more excitement than fear. Still, she won't go after that thing because it gets more powerful the more you think of it. She says this without looking it up; Pepper Potts knows things by heart he struggles to call up from the depths of his memory. It is who she is.

She plays video games, ones that move fast enough to stimulate her mind. She plays on the hardest difficulty level she can find on her games. In her hands the city of _Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas_ has been in an all out gang war for the past three years and she listens to the in game radio as she fights her way to survival, laughing at the jokes as she weaves around a flamethrower. She redoes game levels and times herself, makes herself faster, rejoicing as if life itself was won when she was done.

Pepper lives more than anyone Rhodey has ever known. She is open to anything, everything the world has to offer, every new amusement park ride and food, every crazy plan Tony comes up with. She embraces life with vigor, does everything it asks of her and begs it for more. She is a whirlwind of activity, a blur, a cloud high up in the sky that refuses to come down. She pulls him out of bed once at midnight, just the two of them, and she hauls him off to a poetry club where they spent the next two hours listening, drinking some variation of coffee with names that had half a dozen words in them, and just reveling in their freedom.

She still believes she can change the world, she believes in God, she believes in everything Rhodey's too tired inside to believe in. He's had to be the responsible one ever since he was born, but Pepper wouldn't take that even if she was forced. She'd rebel. Rhodey doesn't rebel, he slips into a quiet, somber emptiness within that makes everyday feel less and less real. She shines. He fades. Without her, he would surely drown in his own life, where expectations are high, pressure is always on and he is never allowed to mess up. His world is stress, pain, worry, and _her_, a flash of color and light in the darkness.

Her crush on Tony Stark is nothing. It'll pass. She's crushed on twelve boys in one month, with the same intense obsession. But it's Pepper, and that will fade. Tony's jaded, cold attitude towards her has already damaged any chance he had of becoming her boyfriend. Now he's been moved into the category of snarkbait, a friend, nothing more. With every passing day she begins to remember it's _Rhodey_ who has been beside her side since seventh grade. One day very soon Tony Stark is about to be dumped. Even Whitney Stane, lonely isolated thing that she was, couldn't take the secret keeping and outright lies. Eventually, if Rhodey is there to comfort both Pepper and Tony, this whole dating fiasco will blow over, and they'll be happy.

And if he's very, very lucky, one day Pepper will look his way and see something more than a friend. She'll see that she doesn't have to vie and work for his attention – she's had it, ever since he met her. It is not a passing fad, this thing he feels for Pepper. She makes his life complete. She's the last remaining wonder of the world. He loves her. He's just waiting for her to be boyfriendless before he begins dropping hints; she's smart, so strategies that might be lost on a common girl will be like red flags to her. He's sure of it.

In the meanwhile, he meets her at school each morning with an Italian soda in hand, twenty inches, vanilla flavored.


	3. HowardObadiah

**Author's Note:** Warning! Slash is ahead. And I fully admit that this whole thing started off as a less than serious theory with Soap Lady in a conversation months ago. I know this is probably not anyone else's cup of tea. But hey, maybe it is. So here it is, Howard/Obadiah. God help us all.

* * *

It had all started with detention.

Howard Stark was there for being politically incorrect. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't the edgy, vulgar, desperately trying to be cool politically incorrect, but rather was that most reviled and mocked of the P.I. – a _pacifist_. The debate team's practice was rife with many a heated argument, sure, and Obadiah had come to expect someone to start a fight, yet he'd been caught utterly unprepared. He hadn't prepared for his opponent to take that stance at all. Here he stood with a handful of notes and cue cards prepared to counterattack a completely different spiel altogether. He'd been struck by the dual ferocity and sincerity with which Howard spoke. He hadn't just lost the debate, he'd been humiliated. The only way to save himself from total disgrace was to play up Howard as an enemy sympathizer and inherently un-American person. One sympathetic teacher later and Howard was in detention for two hours. It was supposed to be one, and he was supposed to write an essay on the necessity of war. Instead he'd written a lengthy, ten thousand word scathing 'take that!' to the teacher on how by supporting war she was saying she knew better than her own God and by saying murder was justifiable was saying God was wrong. The ensuing debate had to be broken up by the principal herself.

Obadiah was intrigued. He was fascinated. He watched the doe-eyed boy rant and argue and refuse to compromise, and he began to see the first genuinely good person he'd ever known. Not that the world was making it easy to be the good guy. Everyone more or less spat on Howard, the poor boy wimp. Of course, Howard _knew_ how to fight, he just didn't believe in beating people up. And of course he was a social outcast. If it wasn't obvious from the fact that he had only five shirts and one pair of pants to his name, it was the feeble tidbits of food he called lunch. Obadiah observed him from afar for several days before realizing that there was no hidden darkness to Howard, at least none that he could discern. That angered him, for some reason. Had Howard been an asshole losing to him in front of twenty people would be a lot more bearable, and besides, no one was that perfect, right? There had to be some way to get the goody-goody to lose his shit.

He knew he could bully Howard Stark outside of school, because the brunette wasn't going to start a scene. He could mock him until he ran out of words and trip him repeatedly and all he'd get was a glare or a sigh. Obadiah knew from personal experience that most men were monsters. All he had to do was bide his time and Howard would snap and turn on him. And eventually, with passing weeks, Howard learned to deliberately step on Obadiah's foot, take different routes home each day and once drop kicked him in return for a kick me sign Stane had tried to put on him. What he didn't do was lose his cool. It was frustrating. Howard was fascinating, calm eyes so deep a guy could get lost in them and a voice both authoritative and low, never losing control for a second – Stane hated him. He couldn't take his eyes off Stark. It had to be fake. No one was that good and kind deep down, it had to be bullshit. One day he'd make that snobby little inventor go nuts in front of everyone, then they'd see he was right and Stark was a liar.

Two months into the torturous bullying, Howard snapped as only Howard could, by leaving Stane an essay length note about appreciating the other boy's brilliance in science class and wanting to be his partner for the next debate team assignment and blah blah blah. The bald boy felt rage overtake him as he grabbed Stark by the wrist, kicked open the side door and yanked the boy out of the halls and into the outdoors. His eyes were narrowed in anger as he held the crumpled paper up.

"What bullshit is this?" Obadiah demanded, never releasing his death grip on Howard's wrist. "Do you think I'd really believe all this peace and love crap? I'm not a freshman girl, _Howie_, you'll have to do better than your usual spiel to fool me. 'I want to hang out with you after school and talk' – please! What happens if I show up, you and your army of black friends jump me?"

"What? No!" Howard's eyes were wide and he was staring at the other boy like he was crazy. "I was hoping we could talk and I could get you to forgive me for the debate thing." His voice and expression softened. "I'm sorry, Obadiah, I shouldn't have made a scene like I did. Now the whole school thinks we're both nuts and it's all my fault. But I'm trying to make up for it-"

"Firstly, Stark, don't ever call me Obadiah. Secondly, drop the act. This wide eyed innocence shtick may work on teachers but it sure as hell isn't going to work on me. Now," the death grip tightened to such a degree Howard was sure he was going to have bruises tomorrow, "tell me what you were really planning. Let me guess, genius, one of those micro-recorders you entered in the science fair, and then get me to spill my secrets?"

"You really don't get it, do you?" Howard asked softly, looking – Stane felt his rage hit a new peak – sympathetic. "Nobody's ever been genuinely nice to you so you think anyone who tries to be a decent human being is lying. You think the world's out to get you. But, I…" He stepped closer, too close, and Stane could feel the other boy's breath. "That's not what this is about. I, I do have… other intentions… than what I said, but, I just didn't dare put it in a note in case someone saw it…" He leaned in closer.

When he felt Howard's lips touch his own, Obadiah froze. He released Howard's arm, and stood stock still, waiting for something bad to happen. Either Stark's friends would jump out any second now and accuse him of sexual assault or someone would see them and their reputations would be over or something worse would happen. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Slowly, very slowly, as Howard's arms wrapped around his neck and he planted soft kisses on him, Stane relaxed into it. Eyes closed, he barely dared to breathe, all rage and anger forgotten. He vaguely realized somewhere in the back of his mind that he'd gone mad to let this happen at all, but he didn't dare pull away for fear of what would happen if he did. Where the hell had his assertive nature gone? At some point he managed to begin kissing back and from there on out things became a blur of hands and lips and _touch_, Howard soft and gentle beside him, touch feather light, smile genuine. Only the ringing of the bell brought them both out of it.

"We're late," Obadiah informed him bluntly. "And you can't blame this one on me, for once."

"Key words, 'for once'," Howard noted, his fingers still shifting against Stane's neck and God, how Stane wished he wouldn't do that because it was making his trademark vivid imagination plan out a very different kind of debate strategy than normal. "So, after school, would you like to come over to my place? My dad's working, the house'll be empty. We can get pizza and talk about the debate team finals, or something."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Stark," Stane replied, straightening his shirt and finger-combing the other boy's hair. "Now let's get in there before we both get detention. Lord knows last time was enough of a disaster."

And as Howard rolled his eyes, some part of his tormentor turned boyfriend was glad that the brunette hadn't had a dark side, after all.


	4. HowardGene

**Author's Note:** I know, I know, it's slash again. There's not a lot of women on this show, so some pairings like this are bound to come up. Blame the writers, not me. Mild spoilers for Season Two, and by mild I mean if you saw the Season One finale you already know everything here. If not, Howard is in fact alive and there are more Rings. This should not be surprising as without those details Season Two wouldn't have a lot of plot left. Anyway. Gratuitous Mongolian abounds. Would a translation help or is it better if the readers are just as lost as Howard when Gene language hops?

* * *

"Gene!" Howard's voice cut across the fog. "What's going on?"

"I don't know! I can't activate the Rings I have anymore! What's your map system telling you?" Gene stumbled towards the direction of the man's voice and crashed into him. He glanced at the blank screen and swore. "Is this part of the test?"

"It must be. Everything's quit working, even my watch." Howard's eyes darted around, trying in vain to see through the unnatural, thick and dark as night fog. "What was the test about?"

"I don't know. It was in Mongolian cursive," he explained, sighing as Howard winced. "I know. I don't understand why they chose a different writing for this. It must be to help curve difficulty. But regardless, we're useless without a translation. We need to go back."

"I can't even tell where back _is_," the businessman sighed. He began pushing on the ground, walking in a circle digging his feet in. "Downhill is this way. That's all I can tell."

"That'll have to do, Stark. Lead the way."

Howard reached out and grabbed Gene's hand, holding it tightly as he moved forward, the black fog making him the only visible thing in existance. Gene reached forward and grabbed Howard's hand in both of his, practically trodding on the man's shoes in his hurry to keep up. Their breathing was the only sound. Howard froze suddenly and Gene crashed into him, but instead of cursing him for it he only felt panic. The older Stark turned him around and led him back the way they'd came. It, too, was downhill. That defied the laws of physics. Every direction they went was downhill. There was no way to make progress.

"We should stay put," the brunet said grimly. "Moving will waste our energy. How do we deactivate a test?"

"We can't," Gene admitted. "Your son and I tried, but the only way to stop it is to solve it." He still had a death grip on Howard's hands, which he loosened but refused to drop completely. "I - I don't know what to do."

"Well, each of us has gotten out of worse," Howard replied sternly. "Think. What could the test be?"

"They're all virtues and tests of character, like wisdom and sacrifice. There's something we need to do, something noble. I believe that's your department, Stark; I've never been accused of excessive morality."

"That's not much to go on... there are a lot of virtues in the world. Bravery, optimism, forgiveness, love, responsibility, determination, honesty, altruism, empathy - I need to narrow it down. You said this temple had Mongolian writing. What are Mongolian virtues?"

Gene groaned. "How should I know? Zhang didn't let me read any Mongolian books and if I spoke it he-" he cut himself off, shaking his head. "I haven't spoken it fluently since I was six years old! Stark, I'm Chinese!"

"_Mandarin_ Chinese are relatives of Mongolians. Inner Mongolia is in the Mandarin Cradle. There has to be something left over from those years spent there in you, somewhere deep down. Temugin, try. Think. What do you remember from your Mongolian side?" Howard pleaded gently, looking into his captor's golden eyes. "We have all the time in the world. There's no pressure. Just think back."

His eyes fluttered to a close. He remembered his mother teaching him words, bit by bit. _Sky, Temugin. Tenger. Say tenger._ It was hard not to get lost in the softness of her face, the gentle smile and the bright eyes shining with love. He had to stay objective with this. He wasn't looking for the time his father had taken him swimming in a pond by their house or the warm embrace of his mother at his father's funeral. He was looking for something abstract, something moral and concrete. _Saikhan. Say saikhan._

"...peace?" he hazarded a guess. "There's three or four words for it, and Mongolian doesn't do that a lot... or maybe it's determination or willpower. It could be strength." He opened his eyes, realizing belatedly how close he'd drawn himself to Howard, and backed off suddenly. "That's all I've got, Stark."

"That's helpful. I'm not sure how we're supposed to display peace, but the others are equally hard to show. Our task then is to understand what qualifies as an example of peace or determination." Howard frowned thoughtfully. "We're both staying rather calm, so it might not mean peace as in lack of panic. We might have to make peace with something or someone. The problem with vagueness of the tests is that even if we could read Mongolian, we would still be left in the dark." He glanced at the tendrils of dark fog encrouching on them. "No pun intended."

"I think the fact that I have five Rings and hauled you across the world and up a mountain displays my determination. And your own willpower is confirmed via my everyday interactions with you." He shuddered in the growing cold, stepping closer to Howard again. "Choices, decisions; those were taught to me. Free will was important. And..." His breath came out visible in the air in front of him.

Howard wrapped his arms around him, and watched genuine panic flash across Gene's face. "I'm just trying to keep you warm. If you die everything is lost. Stay with me, Gene. Choice, and...?"

"...khair..." Gene murmured, sounding increasingly dazed. "It might be khair."

"What's that? Temugin? Temugin?" He shook his shoulders, watching as Gene's gaze grew increasingly unfocused. "We need to get out of here. Come on, Gene, we have to try."

Gene didn't move. "Stark... Howard..." He reached out blindly for him. "Something's wrong..."

"I know, I know it is. It's okay. I'm here." The white man tried to pull him forward and Gene stumbled. In the process of catching him, Howard fell to his knees on the rocky ground. He hissed in pain but held on. He couldn't leave him like this. "There has to be some way to forfeit the test."

"Nnn... Howard... Nadad khair ogno-uh..." He murmured, wrapping his arms around Howard's waist and twisting to sit in his lap. "Nada ohryum baikh-gui..."

"So much for not being fluent," Howard muttered under his breath, and then Gene kissed him.

There wasn't a lot left in life that could stun Howard Ezekiel Stark, but that did it. He stared openly, frozen in time as Gene's tongue brushed against his lip. _What the hell is going on?_ In that moment he bemoaned that he didn't speak a word of Mongolian. He suddenly regretted taking Spanish in high school as Gene tangled his hands in Howard's thick unruly hair. _This must be the test of patience,_ Howard thought as he finally reacted, pulling back abruptly. Gene nuzzled into the crook of Howard's neck, pressing close. It was as if they were alone in the world.

"Gene, this really isn't the time or the place for - not that I'm not flattered, but it's inappropriate for you to kiss your captive - I'm thirty nine, I mean, that just isn't done-" All his excuses tumbled out of his mouth at once. "We have to pass the test, remember? We're here to get the Ring."

"Minee zurkh ovdoj bain," the Asian boy whispered into Howard's chest, looking up at him with vulnerable eyes the color of topaz. "Howard..."

"I... you're not yourself. Whatever you want me to do right now, you're not coherent enough to truly give consent. I refuse to do anything now that would hurt you later. Gene, this is insane. I can't even understand you." He shook his head. "We're not going to get into anything we can't get back out of."

The boy buried himself against his captive and shut his eyes, breathing deeply. He was shaking slightly, from the cold or his not entirely voluntary actions. Even if Gene felt _this_ way about him, it would never have come out under any other circumstances. And Howard was disgusted with any power that could lend itself so easily to darker actions. This violated Gene's basic human rights and was an unfair test from the onset. He pulled the boy closer. _I won't let anything hurt you. I failed Tony, but I can keep you safe._ His blue eyes flickered upwards as he stared into the darkness. He didn't know if he believed in magic, but he knew he was angry with anyone who would implement something like this.

"Manipulating emotionally vulnerable teenagers. What high moral standards magic has. Why don't you come down and test me directly? Leave the kid out of it. He's not here for your sick amusement," he told the air, hoping that whatever technolog (A.I., maybe?) in the temple that still ran would somehow stop this. "He never asked for you to play his darkest secrets like a film reel. Stop it now."

Gene murmured something into Howard's chest. "Khair," he said softly. "That's the test."

"And khair is what, exactly?" Howard asked. Gene kissed him again, quickly. "Oh. _Oh_. Love?"

Gene nodded weakly.

"Then we're about to fail spectacularly, because I'm not going to commit statutory rape to get a Ring." He frowned. "This whole thing is disgusting. I can't hurt you in the name of power and I certainly can't do it in the name of some twisted ancestor of yours and his incorrect definition of love."

"Why not?" the Mongolian boy questioned, sounding sleepy. "I haven't done you any favors."

"Because I don't want to hurt you. You've had a lot of hurt in your life already to drive you to such extreme actions. I won't make your life worse. That's not what love is about. You'll understand when you're older, probably after years of therapy and ailed relationships, if you're anything like me." A self deprecating smile came to Howard's lips then. He ruffled Gene's hair affectionately. "We'll just have to find some other way out of this. Together."

As Gene kissed him again, sloppily and sleepily, the fog vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving a passed out heir to the Khan line in Howard's arms and a Ring floating up above his head. He reached out and snatched it from the air. When he managed to gather Gene up in his arms, he made it to a flatter patch of ground, and gently laid him down. He should have grabbed the Rings and made a break for it. He should have robbed Gene and strangled him in his sleep to end the dangerous quest for the Rings and power right then and there. He should have cut his losses and ran.

But Gene had been all over him. He'd thrown himself at Howard and purred sweet Mongolian words into his ear, held onto him tight, kissed him gently. If any of that was real, then he was more than just a useful captive. He meant something to Gene. Leaving could destablize his already twisted mind. It might drive Gene to murder or theft or worse, suicide. There was no telling how much damage he could do by abandoning him. If he stayed, if he... if he _loved_ him, as uncomfortable as he was with that concept, he might be able to snap him out of this. Make him see reason. Calm him down. Keep him from going on rampages. Howard reached out and touched Gene's face, brushing dirt off the soft skin. For the past sixteen years he'd been campaigning for second chances and hope and optimism. He had to offer Gene the chance to change. He couldn't pretend all this man could ever be was evil.

Genghis Khan, the original Temugin, had killed his uncle because his uncle had murdered his father. He'd united the Mongols by being ruthless with those who didn't unite. There was a long history of anger and extremism here, but more than that, Genghis Khan had good intentions at the start. He had done evil to save his people. Maybe Gene wasn't so different from his ancestor. Maybe there was something good and kind and terribly misguided within him. He never had told Howard why he wanted the Rings beyond it being his birthright. There was more to this, layers and layers more than the eye could see. Gene's heart ached keeping it all in. He was too paranoid to even take the smallest suggestion from Howard right now.

Now. But that could change. He could help Gene change into the hero some part of his heart wanted to be. He could the soft place to fall that the boy desperately needed. Howard had been young and foolish and drunk on power once. He'd been convinced of his own genius and ability to lead. Everyone could change if they were offered a chance. That was what Howard could do; he could push this poor lost younger version of himself towards the right path, and set him free from his madness.

That said, Howard still hid the sixth Ring and claimed they failed the test.

He was an optimist, not an idiot.


	5. PepperToni

**Author's Note:** A short ficlet I did in the waiting room of my doctor's office. A long time ago I mentioned to Soap Lady that if you gender flipped Tony and Whitney you'd instantly create a lot more slash and femslash than the original ever had. It started out as a joke, and then I wrote it all out and now Pepper/Toni exists. God help us all.

* * *

"I am not a lesbian!" Pepper shrieked, drawing the attention of half the school as her face grew increasingly red.

Rhodey held up his hands defensively. "I didn't say that! I meant-"

"Just because I want her to spend time with me and I like hanging out with her and I think she's fun doesn't mean I _like_ like her!" Pepper continued, talking right over her friend's attempts to sooth over the situation. She slammed her locker so hard the whole row shook. "You know, just because I call her a lot and I may have sent a few too many texts doesn't mean I'm in love with her! You're such a homophobe!"

Feeling a migraine coming on, he rubbed his temples as he rushed after her. "I'm not a homophobe! It's your business who you're in love with! This is New York, we've all heard weirder - Pepper, come on! I just said you and Toni are ignoring me, not that you're-"

"SO WHAT IF I LIKE HER?" Pepper snarled, kicking the door to the stairs open. Rhodey was half out of breath following her now. "She's so clearly in love with _Whit_, that snobby little rich boy! He's just a shallow dime a dozen trust fund baby! Who cares if she likes him! I'm NOT jealous!"

"I am so lost," Rhodey muttered, mostly to himself. "For the last time, Pepper, she's not in love with Whit-" He froze as he saw the blonde boy descending the stairs from the roof. "..ley. Um, hey, man. We were just-"

"Quit trying to steal my girlfriend!" the redhead burst out, earning a startled look from everyone, including Toni. All the color drained from Pepper's face as she clamped her hands over her mouth. "I mean, uh, my friend. Who's a girl. You know, like Rhodey's your friend who is a boy without being your boyfriend not that there's anything wrong with that I mean it's NYC, we're like the most LBGT friendly place on the East Coast and I'm not a homophobe and-"

"What the hell is going on?" Whitley asked, looking lost. Rhodey shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe we ought to give these two some alone time. You know girls, they need to vent verbally. You wanna eat lunch with me while they emote?" the black boy asked, feeling drained and giving up on the whole thing. Pepper stood aside and stared at Toni, who appeared equally confused.

"That'd be great, Rhodey," Whitley smiled, grateful for an exit. He and Rhodey exited quickly, leaving the two girls alone on the staircase.

"Pepper?" Toni asked quietly as Pepper sank into a sitting position. "What's this about?"

The redhead buried her head in her hands, weaving her tan fingers inbetween strands of her atomic orange hair. She sniffed and Toni had the terrible thought that she might be crying. _Oh crap, what did I do now?_ The brunette's mind raced. _I am so not good at this whole 'girl' thing. I hope she's not too mad at me for the whole 'damsel in distress' joke. Or is it the whole 'Gene and Greenland' thing again...?_ She shifted uneasily, ruffling her already perpetually untidy chocolate hair. _I already told her that wasn't a date. _She sighed, biting her lip. _Or is this because I ignored her texts when I was working on the back up rockets for the new armor mods? Crap..._

"Whatever I did, I'm sorry." She shoved her hands into her jeans and moved closer to her friend, cautiously. "Clearly I managed to make everybody upset again somehow. Um, do you want me to leave? I can leave you alone for a while. I had some armor modifications to do anyway, so..."

"Toni, do you like girls?" Pepper asked meekly. Toni blinked at her, squinting her dark blue eyes in confusion. "Just answer me."

"I don't know. Maybe. It doesn't matter, does it?" She frowned. "None of them like me, so who cares?"

Pepper made a choked sounding sort of laugh. Toni sat down beside her, baffled, and Pepper snorted again, shaking her head. "You're so stupid," she told the dark haired girl fondly. "You're an idiot, Antonia."

"...okay?" she watched her friend twiddle her fingers. _Did I just get insulted or complimented? What the heck's going on here? I need a book or a manual on social interactions or something._ "So explain it to me, then."

In response, Pepper grabbed her by the shirt and kissed her. "You are such a dumbass."

"You still have time to back out and find someone normal," Toni noted as a giddy smile spread across her face. _This is the best day of my life._

Pepper snorted. "Normal people are boring."

"Normal people won't put you in danger," the brunette replied, her smile fading. "I can't promise I'll always be able to keep you from getting hurt. My enemies-"

"Can kiss my ass if they think I'm letting them hurt my girlfriend," Pepper declared sternly.

Toni blushed, twiddling her thumbs and looking down at the floor. "Installing the arc reactor did a number on my body. I don't really have breasts anymore, just a lot of scars..." She looked up, startled, as Pepper gently entwined her hands with Toni's.

"I don't care about that. I just care about you. You're a beautiful person. You help people and you're a genius and you work really hard to make things right even if you can go overboard, and... I don't love you for your body. Or your money. I love you because you're you. You're a passionate dorky genius with no clue and you make life exciting. I don't want anybody else. Nobody else could ever come close to being like you."

"Patricia..."

"Yes, Antonia?"

"Thank you. For putting up with everything I do, and coming back for more. You're crazy."

"I know. It's part of my charm," she said, beaming at Toni cheerfully. "You know you love me."

"Yeah, I do. I just don't promise I'll be very good at that." She smiled bitterly. "I'm a disaster."

Pepper pulled Toni to her feet, smiling benevolently at her, her clay colored eyes full of love. "Yes, but you're _my_ disaster. And you always will be. Now come on, let's go get lunch and you can bore me to death with technobabble."

"Miss Potts, it would be an honor," she giggled.

And they pointedly ignored anyone who stared as they cruised the halls of their school, hand in hand.


	6. HowardTony

**Author's Note: **My internet cut out on me mid nerdy writing brainstorming with Soap Lady. Saddened, I decided to take the opportunity to write something myself while waiting for it to be fixed. And of course, my brain went dark places. (This show needs more women so this fic won't be wall to wall slash.)

Do I really need an incest warning? It's Howard/Tony; that's kind of a given. In any case, warning, slashy underage incest and creepy dysfunctional relationship within.

* * *

Howard inhaled sharply, feeling a pang of guilt go through him as he looked at his son.

This was a very unconventional sort of parenting problem. Then again, most of Howard's life had been rather unconventional. He'd never really been normal, but he'd be lying if he said he'd predicted this particilar turn of events. On some level he had been most afraid his son would grow up and hate him. Howard had seen the struggles other families had with each other, the resentment and growing weight of mistakes made on all sides. And he'd tried his best to avert being that way with Tony. He talked to him frequently, discussed every decision with him, never let the sun set on their anger. They were a broken family and Howard was going to do everything he could to keep them together. His own parents were long dead. Maria's parents wanted nothing to do with him; they blamed him for her death. All he had left of his family was on that bed, _his_ bed, fast asleep.

Tony's naked back was exposed in the dimness of the moonlight. He turned over in his sleep, exposing more skin, and Howard turned his head away, inhaling sharply. _Oh, God. What have I done?_

He'd been so honest and open and very vulnerable last night. He hadn't called him Dad. "Howard," he'd pleaded. "Just talk to me. Tell me you don't hate me, please." And that had stopped him.

Because he didn't hate his son. He didn't even particularly dislike Tony. He thought the world of him. He was smart and kind, sweet, protective when provoked, strangely goofy and serious and - and Howard loved him. Howard couldn't stop loving him. No matter what Tony did, he would always love him more than any other person on Earth, and that scared Howard deeply. He was scared he was going down a very dark path. Last night, they had both been drinking at that stupid charity gala, and Howard had thought he'd gotten through the danger zone. Tony was home, no one in the media knew his underage son had been drinking, crisis averted. Except Tony was a depressed drunk. A very, very depressed and pitiful and lonely drunk with no filter on his words.

He had only meant to kiss him. Just one moment of indulgence that Tony probably wouldn't even remember in the morning, one concession to this sickness they were both afflicted with. This wasn't supposed to happen. All Howard wanted was for Tony not to end up like his mother, drunk and isolated and depressed. He didn't want to come home and find Tony's body like he'd found Maria's. He wanted to see Tony become the leader Stark International needed. He wanted Tony to be happy. It had only been a kiss. That was all he'd tried, and then Tony's arms were around his neck and his eyes were so full of emotion, one more couldn't hurt, then another and...

Tony stirred in Howard's bed, but didn't wake.

Howard downed a shot of vodka and tried to figure out what to do next. _So much for not being like my father. I hurt Tony the same way he hurt me._ Well, not the exact same way. There hadn't been any electrical tape or beatings involved in this. But it was the same thing in principle. It was sick and wrong. He'd corrupted the only family he had left. There was no way to justify tonight. He glanced at the alarm clock by the bed and winced. This _morning_. Whatever. It could be ten minutes before the end of the world and that wouldn't make this right. He was a monster. All his life he'd been trying to build an empire for Tony only to stab him in the back at the finish line. What a disgusting, reprehensible human being he was. Howard didn't deserve to have a son. He... he couldn't breathe. The forty two year old made his way silently across the room, exiting without a sound, his head spinning.

_I have to call Roberta, I have to tell her what's happened. She has to take the boy now. I can't be near him._ He fumbled for his cellphone. _The question now is, how do I even begin to tell her what happened?_

He hadn't told her about Tony's confession. "I'm in love with you," Tony had told him the Christmas before last, leaning over to catch a startled Howard's lips with his own. "I'm so sorry."

Tony knew it was wrong. Even he wasn't that socially incompetent. He knew it wasn't what he was supposed to be feeling, he knew he wasn't supposed to say anything, but he trusted his father. He knew Howard wouldn't hate him. He trusted him enough to lay down those binding and revealing words, I love you, in a romantic sense. The teenager knew his father would understand. That kind of trust had been humbling, in a way. Howard had never been that close to someone, that he could lay down his darkest secrets quietly one night. Even with Maria he'd maintained certain walls, kept some things hidden. Some things, no one could know about. Tony was different. Tony loved few people, but he loved them with his whole heart, with everything in him.

Howard hadn't wanted to fall in love back. He had tried to turn him down with the very sound and reasonable arguments any parent should've made. They were related. Different. Too similar. Too much of an age gap. Genetically half identical. It would destroy the company. It would destroy _Tony_, twist his perceptions of love to a point where they could never be fixed. He didn't want to hurt him emotionally or physically. He didn't want Tony to wake up with nightmares like he had, to feel spikes of panic even now at the sight of electrical tape, to be afraid to talk to his own father. He wanted Tony to have the nice, wholesome life he himself had never had. That was why he'd fought for over a year to avoid even talking about it.

But that was hurting Tony, too. Making him feel like a freak. He'd been drinking. He was alone in this. He didn't even dare tell Rhodey. Tony spent more and more time in his own lab. They both did. It was easier to avoid everything that way. Not that doing that made the pain or the shame or the desperate whirlwind of emotion go away. Tony was still in love with him. He just thought now that he had to prove it. By the time his birthday rolled around he'd churned out over a dozen inventions. They were all helpful and humanitarian and pleas for forgiveness. How many times had Tony come to him when he was alone and apologized? As if it were never enough. As if it was all hopeless.

He was warm and weak against Howard, clingy, pressing himself close as if this sudden display of affection might end at any moment. Howard barely even hugged his son anymore. The late night kiss was everything he'd ever wanted and he had held his father close. He didn't want it to end. To go back to pretending everything was fine. To go back to _lying_, to themselves and each other and the world. Tony's hands had a death grip on Howard's back as he buried his head in his father's shoulder. "Don't leave me," he'd whispered, and Howard hadn't. He couldn't. Having taken the plunge, it was too late to turn back now. He was swept up in emotions and alcohol and let reason fly out the window. Because at the time he'd thought maybe this would make things better somehow.

"I love you," they'd told each other a thousand times, like mantras. "I love you, I love you so much..."

Who said what became inconsequential. In the end, they had curled up close together, closer than any two people should ever be, and for a moment the world had made sense to Howard Stark. For a moment everything was perfect. He was loved and not alone. There was nothing crowding his ever churning genius mind. There was just Tony, pressed close against him, and the beating of their hearts.

He had a terrible urge to throw the phone away and go get back in bed. He resisted it, but just barely. _I have to do this. I have to keep him safe from me._ His hands shook as he dialed Roberta's number from memory. _I can't let this go on. I can't hurt him the way I was hurt. I have to protect him... Tony will understand when he's older._

"Roberta," he choked out, a little too loud, cutting off her remark about the time of the call. "I, I messed up. I need you to come over here, now."

"Howard? Howard, what's happened?" She could tell something was wrong. She had no idea what had happened, had no clue he was so _sick_, but that was about to change.

He inhaled slowly, shakily, and blurted out, "I slept with Tony."

There was stunned silence on the other end.

Then he began to cry.

* * *

"The transferrence into Roberta's custody will start officially today," Howard told his son grimly, watching betrayal and hurt play out across the boy's face. He turned and looked out his seat's window in the jet. "It's better this way."

"No it's not!" Tony half-shouted, clearly hurt. "It's not like it was for you and - him," he said awkwardly, gingerly dancing around the topic. He was presently one of three people alive who knew about _that_ aspect of his father's past. "You gave me a choice. You didn't force me into anything! You're not like that, _we're_ not like that, it's different for us-"

"No," he whispered gravely. "It isn't. You'll understand one day, I hope. You might even forgive me, eventually, when you're older, and hopefully break the cycle."

"There's nothing to forgive," Tony said softly, reaching out to touch his father's shoulder. "I was the one who started it. If anything it's my fault, and I'm sorry, but this is too much punishment. Can't we work this out somehow?"

"We can. Seperately. With a lot of therapy and space," Howard emphasized the last words carefully. "Right now we'd only play into each other's weaknesses and enable this situation to get further out of control. We can work together because I know it means so much to you, but we can't stay together. It'll make things worse."

"I can change," the teenager stated sincerely, looking into his father's eyes. "I'll never do it again. I won't ever touch alcohol again in my life, just don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving you. I'm keeping you out of the blast radius." He was distracted by his holo-phone ringing. "That's Obadiah. It must be important."

Weakly, Tony said, "I bet you a million dollars it's about this project."

It was a pathetic attempt at normalcy. _Tell me everything I know isn't completely obliterated,_ was the unspoken plea. _Tell me we're still us._

"You're on," Howard said with a forced smile. _It's okay. We'll get through this. Together._

Those were the last words he said to his son before the plane crashed.


End file.
